Of The Prairie

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Prairie.

I’m not talking about a valley between two mountain ranges or regions that are punctuated by flat patches of earth.

I mean prairie — interior lowlands, wide, weather conducing swaths of land that roar with silence when the wind isn’t ripping through bunchgrass, willow and scrubby poplar bluffs.

For years now, I’ve referred to the great northern plains as a caesura;
a wide breath of space that robs the mountains of the true meaning of grace,
a hard and undulating passage of land between the jutting lobes of the coasts,
the place the heartbeat of the wild is traced out
abstractedly

in the staccato of
star spangle

in the gleam of
old bones in the gloaming

in the conductivity of
tall grass and pungent sage

in the way the soil clasps hands with the wind.

It’s a place that gives and steals in both a merciful and merciless manner; bringing forth new life in steady arcs while old life fades to rust and bone split in two by wavering gold. It’s a hard place for anything to do its living and dying, but there’s a comfort in knowing the prairie always takes back her own.

You know me. And if you don’t, I’ll be the first to inform you of the fact that I spend a lot of time out on the land and it’s my great honor to be able to live off of it, to take from it what I need exist on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels — and to give back, when I can, what I can. Not a day goes by when I don’t step out into the wide arms of the world here and notice, firsthand, the cycle of energy between the living and the dead, the bones and the wildflowers, the trees and the mountain springs, the pronghorn and the sage. I’m connected, I’m plugged in, and I’m grateful to be so.

It’s a perfect system out there; left on it’s own, there is no beginning or end to it — just like the One that created it all — I’m talking about Alpha and Omega.

The mountains, the plains, the great oceans, they are the beginning, they are the end. There’s simply a smooth line, the birth and decay of wildness and beauty, the tall grasses splitting bone in two, the heave of the flowers and sage, the eruption of the sun each morning and the going down of the same.

How blessed am I to see it in full dimension as often as I do.  To be almost blinded by the simplicity and perfection of the great feast, of the great unbroken circle of energy between the elements, between the coming and going of spirit, between the bloom and frost of the seasons and to exist there, wholly, belonging because I choose to belong in a deeper way.

The difference between the living and the dead is breath. Caesura. A great and quiet plain. The space between the dead and the living is an inhalation, an exhalation, a great pause, a long rest in the holy of holies. I see it all the time, at my own hands or the fangs and claws of others; the short rest before the bones and flesh are thrust into use once more; the timeless moment when the spirit departs and the body begins its transition into something new.

Ashes to ashes. Stardust to stardust, baby.

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Comments

  1. Such a beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing. You are so very talented and I enjoy your posts very much. Stay warm this winter.

  2. Simone Turner says

    Perfection!

  3. Loveliness. I particularly like the sentiment of belonging because you choose to belong.

  4. Beautiful photographs! I LOVE the jumping one on the bails of hay! So great!

  5. Ah, the life you live and the way you share it!! <3

  6. What a magnificent planet we live on. All the variety. Thanks for taking us along to the prairie. I like that last shot….very phantasmal.

  7. that last line, baby.

    xx

  8. You have me shivering from beginning to end of this post. Every picture, every sentence.

    As if I could feel it all along, this timeless moments when the spirit departs – as if you were catching it, all the time. And right here on this page.

    It is a holy way to live, indeed. And a holy thing to share.

  9. I am blown to smithereens each time I come here to take in your photos and your words. Thank you – you’re work is a catalyst for a coming apart/undoing that takes me deeper into my own inner and outer terrain.

  10. Another sublime description of nature, let alone the also sublime photographs (the last one is my favorite). Thank you!!!!!!

  11. does this mean you are/were at home?

  12. You speak of the land so powerfully, so gently, I wish I had your knack. I wish I could walk that land. Thanks for sharing it, always <3

  13. It seems a magical place, indeed! I hope to visit such a place of fantastical wonder at some point… I have been to and am in love with the desert, but not the prairie. I will have to manifest an adventure out that way…
    xo
    Britt

    (p.s. That last shot- WOW!)

  14. This was so beautiful. Thank you so much for your thoughtful, textured writings that challenge my norms and make me remember where I’m truly living. Not in my cityboxdwelling, but on this beautiful earth, this magical gift of a home. breathe. remember.

  15. Thank you all for being here and taking a moment to zip me a note! X

  16. Elizabeth Waggoner says

    Thank you for this lovely prayer. Amen.

  17. This is my (new) most favorite post of yours. PURE POETRY!
    Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!
    L

  18. continuous presence = transparency to the light…molecular-dance-on, ms. plume…

  19. Absolutely beautiful post and words. I just “found” you and your website and am totally blown away. The artist in me is moved by your words, photographs, and creativity. Thank you for sharing who you are so that artists-in-transition, like me, can be inspired to be brave and step more into who I am in my soul. Blessings!

  20. So very true. I would buy the book you write.

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